


Blank Space

by moz17



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3679044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moz17/pseuds/moz17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, Blank Space, as in the Taylor Swift song. I give all credit to lordbyronsbloomers for suggesting that Blank Space is actually the perfect Jarse song. This is what I ended up writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blank Space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lordbyronsbloomers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordbyronsbloomers/gifts).



Peter had always known that one day this would have to come to an end. Even he though couldn't have predicted the spectacular events which would lead to it, bloody hell. Sitting outside the Turl he lit up a cigarette almost without being conscious that he was doing so. The fresh January day seemed a thousand miles away from that fateful night, as if Thursday hadn't been gravely injured and still recovering, as if Morse hadn't been thrown in jail. But it had all happened, and Jakes was never that great at denying reality. And he could no longer deny that now was the time to end things between him and Morse. 

He'd chosen the pub carefully- early in the day, so there wouldn't be too many others around, but at the same time, ensuring that it was a public place so as to check Morse from getting too loud (The man sometimes wasn't aware of just how loud he was capable of becoming, sweet Jesus, that'd been a shock the first time they'd slept together). He'd also purposefully sat outside, calculating that the coldness of the winter day would hurry their meeting to an end. The intention was to make Morse as uncomfortable as possible, and that was something Jakes had a knack for. 

Oh Lord, he could still remember Morse the first time he'd seen him. His careless attire and spiky demeanor had told him everything he needed to know about the man, it had been easy to read him. And that face; when those large eyes turned furiously upon him, Peter decided in that moment he had to have him. 

He enjoyed the chase if he was going to be honest about it, and he was good at pursuing someone. Less good at following up but that didn't matter so much. He sometimes wondered what his string of ex-lovers would have to say about him if they ever got together. Not much really- charming, hot, then cold, then gone. The problem with Morse was that he did in fact now know too, too much and therefore, it had to end. 

Somehow, he'd thought it'd be harder to get Morse to yield to him than it had been. He chose his moment well, he supposed. Strange had a tendency to talk about everything to everyone and it had gone around the station double quick how Alice had broken it off with Morse. That evening Peter had arrived at Morse's bedsit, a bottle of whiskey in hand and a smirk twisting his mouth. It hadn't taken much- Peter listened to the man's slightly slurred words about Alice and Susan and other girl's names, before he'd slid his palm up Morse's thigh, cigarette skilfully balanced between his fingers, and whispered lowly into his ear about all the incredible things he could show him. Morse, clumsy in his own body, made worse by booze and the hungry need to have something that resembled affection, had done his utmost to match Peter's every move, kissing him furiously, gasping, grasping; Jakes had been taken aback, to say the least. 

He told himself it would last a weekend- perhaps a month at most. Yet somehow, it continued and continued, and every morning after, as he gazed at Morse's face, pinched even as he slept, he swore to himself this would be the last time. It never was. He kept coming back, no matter how often the two of them clashed on a case, or exchanged insults or had heated drunken debates. In spite of this, or because of it, these two thorny roses somehow always ended up entwined around one another again. And Jakes began trying to stop telling himself that there had to be an end soon. 

But then Blenheim Vale had come crashing back into his life, sweeping every certainty from him, except for Morse, somehow his hand had been light enough on that darkest of nights. Then morning had come and he realized what he had done, what he had told him. In that moment he was almost glad Morse was in prison, and away from him. 

Morse folded himself stiffly into the seat beside Peter, ordered an ale and then fell silent once more, huddled in his insufficient coat, battling against the biting cold. 

"Glad you're out." Peter said. 

He did mean it, even if having to be so close to the man made his reserve wobble slightly. Each encounter with Morse had only sharpened his desire for him instead of blunting it. There had been moments of pure insanity when he'd stolen kisses from him in the riskiest places, his reward being the flushing colour on Morse's face and his eyes blown wide. He could no longer gamble his entire life on such moments; he also wanted to be rid of the sensation of not being quite in control of himself that Morse's presence induced in him. 

Morse merely nodded; instead of speaking, he tentatively pressed his thigh against Jakes'. Peter inhaled sharply on his cigarette and neither moved away nor moved closer. 

"Not so sure that's a good idea." He paused. "I don't just mean now. I mean, in general." 

A furrow developed in Morse's forehead. "But, you can't just- just finish it like that." 

"I can. We're playing a dangerous game." 

Morse scoffed. "Is that the only reason?"

"No. It's still a bloody good one, so don't be a fool. But everything's changed, it won't work like it did before."

"Why?" Morse's gaze was unrelenting as always. "Because of what you told me? Peter, that doesn't change anything..."

"Oh, yes it does." Peter shook his head as he stubbed out his cigarette. It changed everything. Before they had just been what the other had wanted. Now, Morse, having learnt his secret, stupidly believed himself to have feelings for him. And he was damned if he was going to become one of Morse's damsels in distress that he had such a great weakness for. Morse, utterly hopeless, wanted only tragedy and torture when it came to his amours. Peter wasn't a fool- Morse had a dreadful tendency to romanticize and he couldn't accept being romanticized into some figure other than he was. He knew Morse didn't pity him, but this was almost worse in a way. 

"So, that's it?" Morse shrugged his thin shoulders. 

Jakes nodded as he dragged on his newly lit cigarette. So, he thought, that's how this one ends. It had to, because the only other alternative was far more terrifying- that it wouldn't. 

"Was it worth it then?" Morse rose just as stiffly as he had sat down, and scarcely threw Jakes a look as he departed.


End file.
